Breakfast Bliss

We sat at the breakfast table together. The light pouring in softly from the skylight.
I could not recall the last time we shared a breakfast together.

He poured the cereal and the milk,
and cut up the fruit.
His feet shuffled softly on the wood floor as he
walked to the table.

This was a moment.
The kind I always wished for.

The haze of happiness swirling around me, daring me to wake up.
But I already was.
I could smell the ocean and feel the
crispness
of the air.

I was acutely aware of him and his body; the
relaxed
shoulders
of morning.

I rested my head on my hand and looked up to him
with the cereal bowls in his hands.
He was smiling. The same content smile I remembered;
the same one I felt.

He placed the bowls on the table and sat across from me.
Every bite was
sweet with the taste of memory;
bitter with the tang of reality;
soft with the texture of familiarity
and comfort.

With every bite, we came closer to parting; closer to the conclusion.
Or to the "to be continued..."
Or not.

We spoke quietly, noting the
fragility
of now.

It's only cereal.
It's only temporary tranquility.
But it cured my hunger pains
for a while.